


In His Safe Hands

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg is Sweet, M/M, Mike Stamford and John Watson Friendship, Mike is a bit slow on the uptake, Pining, Rarepair, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Mike Stamford might be a successful surgeon turned lecturer but there's always been something, *someone* missing in his life. He cultivates his jolly fat bloke persona to hide his loneliness but a chance encounter with one of Sherlock's friends, one willing to take the time to know the man within, makes Mike wonder why he always thought of himself as unlovable.





	1. Chapter One

IN HIS SAFE HANDS

Mike Stamford might be a successful surgeon turned lecturer, but there's always been something,  _ someone _ missing in his life. He cultivates his jolly, fat bloke persona to hide his loneliness but a chance encounter with one of Sherlock's friends, one willing to take the time to know the man within makes Mike wonder why he has always thought of himself as unlovable.

A/N: If you have read anything else I've written then you'll know that Mystrade will always be my OTP. That said, this little nugget would not leave me alone till I had at least made a start on it. It might be a tiny rowing boat in a mighty fleet of Sherlock ships, but I actually like it.

Greg Lestrade crashed his way out of the pathology department at Bart's muttering under his breath about arrogant consulting detectives and their insistence on always being right.

“I'm not bloody stupid!” growled Greg. “No one in their right mind would have thought…”

Crash.

Not watching where he was going in his strop, he had walked into someone and sent them flying.

“Christ, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

The chubby bloke in the lab coat picked up the notes he had been carrying and grinned at Greg, his grey eyes twinkling behind metal -framed glasses.

“No harm done.” he said in a strong Newcastle accent. “I've got plenty padding anyway.”

“Still, I should have watched where I was going. Bloody Sherlock…”

“I thought I recognised you!” said the man triumphantly. “You're Sherlock's policeman. I remember you from John's wedding. Mike Stamford. John and I trained together.”

“Greg Lestrade.”

Greg recalled him from the night-time do. He had arrived after all the bother with the Mayfly Man and John's old C.O. and spent most of his time dancing up a storm and making people laugh with his outrageous patter.

They shook hands and Greg couldn't help but notice what lovely hands Mike Stamford had. Neat, close-trimmed nails and long, dexterous fingers. The hands of a surgeon.

“So it's all your fault.” laughed Greg. “ Getting John and Sherlock together.”

“Guilty as charged.” The twinkle in Mike Stamford’s eye was even brighter now and Greg found it very likeable.

“Sorry,” said Greg. “I don't want to keep you, you must be busy.”

“Nothing spoiling, I'm on me way for a pint.”

“Sounds good.” said Greg wistfully.

“Aye, there's nothing like a pint after you've spent all day talking. Anyway, nice to meet you, Greg.”

“Likewise,” said Greg.

After talking to Mike, Greg realised he had a thirst of his own, but it would have to wait. He went back to the Yard and told Donovan and Dimmock to go and arrest the victim's florist before he wrote up his findings on the new case, shaking his head yet again at the unreality of it.

That done, he switched off the lights in his office and left the building in search of beer.

After all, he had no one to rush home to, not any more. No one would object if he rolled home later smelling of real ale and takeaway curry.

The Moon Over the Water’s doors were open and the alluring sound of clinking glasses and lively chatter drew him in.

At the bar, as if it had been preordained, stood Mike Stamford.

“Hello again,” said Greg with a smile. 

“Hello.” replied Mike with a welcoming smile. “Twice in one day? Should I be worried?”

Greg just laughed and ordered a pint.

“Can I buy you one?” he asked Mike. “Or are you heading off.”

“No, not planning on it. Pint of Doom Bar would be lovely, thanks. Alice,pet, will you put the match on?” This was directed to the barmaid who smilingly obliged, changing the TV channel to Sky Sports.

Greg had forgotten that Arsenal had a late kick-off that night and watched as his team walked onto the pitch close on the heels of the home team who wore black and white strips.

“Howay the lads,” said Mike, an anticipatory gleam in his eye.

“I should have known,” sighed Greg. 

“Ah, your lot are bound to beat us. It's by how much as to whether we get upset by it.” Mike added with a grin.

“That's a pretty healthy attitude,” laughed Greg.

“It's not all fun, bonny lad. You should be at St. James’s Park on derby day. Then it gets serious.”muttered Mike darkly.

“I've heard.” agreed Greg.

The referee’s whistle sounded and the two men settled down to enjoy the match.

Greg found he was enjoying himself enormously, helped by Mike's running commentary and the seemingly endless flow of beer. At half-time, he excused himself for a necessary pee.

In his absence Mike went to the bar again and ordered two portions of chips.

“He seems nice,” said Alice.

“Friend of a friend. At least he appreciates football properly.”

“He's very handsome.”

“I know, pet. I might wear specs but I'm not entirely blind. Would it be really sad to admit this is the best night I've had in ages?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, life. Why do I suddenly feel like I need one?”

“You're funny,” smiled Alice.

“Always leave them laughing, Alice.”

Greg returned from the bathroom to find Mike at a table, still in view of the TV, with two sets of cutlery and condiments.

“I ordered you some chips.” said Mike and was pleased to see Greg's look of pleasure.

“That's very thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful, my arse. I'm starving. And I thought you'd appreciate some blotting paper.”

“It'll save me having to find a kebab shop later.” agreed Greg.

“Oh, I love a good kebab “ sighed Mike and laughed at Greg's expression. “What?”

“I'm...surprised. That's all. Every doctor I've ever seen has told me to stop smoking, drink less and exercise more.”

“Bunch of quacks, the lot of them.” teased Mike. “Besides if everyone did that I'd be out of a job. And they're hypocrites to a man. Person. You look fit enough to me.” 

“Where were you when I had my last medical?” said Greg with a pout.

The chips duly arrived and were devoured as the match restarted.

Mike didn't object when Greg grabbed his arm when Arsenal scored, it gave him the perfect excuse to reciprocate when Newcastle equalised.

It ended in a draw which made Greg scowl and Mike smile with relief. He smiled even more when he realised Greg was in no hurry to leave. When Alice put one of the music channels on, that was the way the conversation went.  

They discussed favourite bands, gigs they had gone to and the dismal state of the music scene these days which led to books and films and, before they knew it, Alice was calling time at the bar.

Mike wiped his eyes which were damp with mirth after something Greg had just said.

“I can't believe the time!” he exclaimed, squinting at his watch. “Thank Christ I'm not operating tomorrow.”

Greg was also taken aback by the lateness of the hour. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. No shop talk and absolutely no mention of Sherlock Bloody Holmes. Impulsively he picked up a beer mat and found a pen in his jacket pocket. Carefully he wrote down his mobile number and pressed it into Mike's hands.

“I really enjoyed myself tonight, Mike.” The sincerity in his voice made Mike pause. “My number’s on there. Give me a ring sometime and we'll do it again.”

“Are you sure?” There was something in the other man's tone that, had he been sober, Greg might have picked up on.  

“Yeah, of course.” Greg looked at him quizzically.

“Oh, right.” Mike tore the beer mat in half, tucking the part with Greg's number on it safely inside his jacket pocket. “Lend us your pen a minute.”

Greg passed it over and Mike scribbled down his own number. “Here's mine. If, Y’know, you need someone to watch the match with or whatever.”

Greg took both the number and the pen and put them away securely.

“I'll have to try and find a cab,” said Greg.” What about you?”

“I live not far from here,” Mike informed him. “It's just as quick to walk. Goodnight, Greg. It's been an absolute pleasure.”

“I'll be in touch,” promised Greg. He watched Mike walk out of the door of the pub with a smile.

He patted the pocket that held Mike's number. He would be in touch, all right. 

Mike went home on automatic pilot, his mind still back in the pub with Greg. As he stood at his kitchen sink methodically swallowing water before bed in an attempt to ward off his hangover, he ventured a small prayer to the god of plump, overworked medics.

“Please. Just let me see him again.”

As he got ready for bed, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and sighed.

“Well, at least he thinks you're funny. There can't be any other reason.”

He switched off the light and went to bed.

TBC 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike learns a bit more about his drinking companion from John Watson. Greg's courtship might be just a tad subtle for a sleep-starved surgeon though.

PART TWO

 

A/N I'm absolutely blown away by the responses to the first chapter. Thank you everyone who left kudos and comments, Mike is most definitely deserving of love.

  
  
  


A week later, Mike met up with John in a pub not far from Baker Street.

 

Out of sheer necessity their meetings had become fewer and fewer which Mike thought was a shame as he was fond of John.

 

He surveyed his friend over his pint glass. John’s hair was almost completely grey now, the strain of the past few years and his war experiences had added lines to his face and wrinkles around his eyes and when he laughed, which wasn't often, it failed to light him up as it had in the past when the two of them had been medical students and the world had been their oyster.

 

“How's Rosie?” asked Mike.

 

“Beautiful. Perfect. The most intelligent child ever born. She's doing great, Mike. You'll have to come and see her.”

 

“I will, I promise. Is Sherlock still living with you then?”

 

“Not for much longer. The repairs to 221B are nearly finished and I think he'll be pleased to get back there. He's been good, no experiments and absolutely no drugs. He's even back on the nicotine patches.”

 

“I'm impressed. Are you still at the surgery?”

 

“Part-time now, so I can spend more time with Rosie. She's growing up so fast.”

 

Mike grinned.

 

“They all do. Remember my sister Joanie?”

 

“Yeah, of course. She was a lot older than you.”

 

“Her daughter's getting married in the new year.”

 

“No way!” exclaimed John.”Isn't she only six?”

 

“She's a paediatric SHO now, John.”

 

John shook his head, unable to process just how quickly time had passed.

 

“Christ, I can't believe it.”

 

Mike went back to the bar for more beer and John surreptitiously checked his phone. No messages. He didn't know why he was fretting, Molly would have rung if she was even mildly concerned about Rosie.

 

Mike returned with the beer and John thanked him.

 

“I had a pint with your mate Greg last week.” Mike said casually. 

 

John looked surprised.

 

“Greg Lestrade? How did that happen?”

 

“Bumped into him at Bart's the he turned up at The Moon. He's a nice bloke.”

 

“Yeah, he is.”

 

“Is he married?”

 

John frowned as he recalled how utterly miserable Greg had been after Sherlock's Christmas revelation all those years ago.

 

“He was. Been divorced for a long time now. She cheated on him.”

 

Mike's eyes were like saucers.

 

“You're kidding! He's the kind of bloke you cheat on your husband with! Christ, she must have been mad.”

 

“We all thought so, but you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Then there was David. Sweet man. Archeologist. They were together for a while but neither of them were very comfortable with a long-distance relationship. I don't think he's seeing anyone at the moment

“  

 

“Oh. Right.”

 

Mike drank some more of his beer.

 

“So are you seeing anyone?” John asked.

 

“Nope. No one.”

 

John decided to change the subject as he didn't want to send Mike on a downer.

 

“Where is the wedding? And who's Katie marrying?”

 

Mike laughed.

 

“She's calling herself Katherine now. He's an anaesthetist called Peter. Joanie likes him so he must be all right. They're getting married in Gosforth on New Year's Day.”

 

“Nice. I bet…”

 

John was interrupted by Mike's mobile ringing. Mike looked annoyed.

 

“I told them I was unavailable till tomorrow,” he grumbled as he answered it.

 

“Stamford.” Then his expression changed and he smiled.

 

“Hello, bonny lad. No, I understand, it's been hectic for me too. Having a pint with John.”

 

Mike covered the phone and mouthed ‘Greg'.

 

“I'll tell him. Saturday? I'm sure I can. I've got a stack of favours I can call in. What did you have in mind. No! How the hell did you get tickets? I'll definitely be there. I tell you what, meet me at Sorrento’s at seven and I'll buy you dinner. That's the one. Yeah. See you there. Bye.”

 

He hung up, grinning all over his face.

 

“Greg said hi. What?”

 

John was sitting with a thoroughly amused expression on his face.

 

“Got a date for Saturday then?”

 

“It's not a date.” insisted Mike. “He's got tickets to go and see Lindisfarne and wondered if I wanted to go with him.”

 

“Right. And dinner first?”

 

“Why not? It's only polite. He got the tickets after all.”

 

“Yes, okay. Definitely not a date.”

 

“Oh, shut up, Watson.”

 

Mike could feel himself going red but grinned sheepishly as John rocked with laughter.

 

“I'm sorry, I'll stop teasing.” said John. “Greg's a decent man. It's about time you had some fun, Mike. There's more to life than surgery.”

 

“So they tell me,” said Mike wryly. “Get the beer in, Watson.”

 

*

 

Mike arrived early at the restaurant and thanked the waiter as he was shown to his table.

 

“My guest won't be long,” he informed him. “ Will you bring the menus?”

 

“Certainly,” replied the waiter and he bustled off, returning with two menus and the wine list.

 

Mike looked around him as he waited. It was mostly the pre-theatre crowd filling the tables but there was one young couple directly in his eyeline that caught  his attention. The man looked nervous and was fiddling with something in his jacket pocket.

 

“Just ask her, you clot.” he murmured.

 

He grabbed a passing waiter and said quietly, pointing discreetly to the table in question.

 

“If she says yes, give them a bottle of your best Lanson, will you?”

 

“Of course, sir.” replied the startled waiter.

 

Then all thoughts of proposals and young love were driven from his mind as Greg arrived.

 

He looked incredible in a dazzlingly white shirt and bottle green sweater over dark pants.

 

“Hi,” said Greg. “Sorry I'm late. Got held up a bit at work.”

 

“It's fine. You haven't missed anything.”

 

Greg was looking around the room.

 

“It's really nice in here. Is this one of your favourites?”

 

“Aye. You should try the lasagne. It's garlicky as hell, mind, but it's worth it.”

 

“Sounds good. I do like a proper lasagne.”

 

“A man after my own heart.” said Mike approvingly and Greg laughed.

 

They placed their orders and chatted about what they had been doing since they last met.

 

“Surprisingly quiet at the minute,” admitted Greg, pouring Mike some more Chianti. “My in-tray is almost empty. Still, Christmas is coming, that's usually when the shit hits the fan.”

 

“Elegantly put,” said Mike. “Will you be working over Christmas?”

 

“Yeah, I always volunteer for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It lets the officers with families spend time with them. What about you?”

 

“I can't remember a time where I didn't work at Christmas,” sighed Mike. “Probably for the same reasons as you. No one to bother if I was there or not. I am off for the New Year, though. Family wedding.”

 

Their mutual gloom was lifted by the arrival of their main courses. Greg covertly watched Mike remove his lasagne from the dish to a proper plate, his clever hands not missing the tiniest sliver.

 

“It's not as heavy as a kidney,” said Mike and Greg felt embarrassed for staring.

 

“Eat up, lad.”

 

The lasagne was everything Mike had promised, meaty and loaded with garlic and it melted in the mouth.

 

They ordered coffee afterwards and Greg was reduced to helpless laughter by some of Mike's stories about surgical life and the characters he had known and Greg just knew the image of a very drunk John Watson in rugby kit getting arrested for trying to steal the opposing team’s mascot would stay with him for a very long time.

 

“Yes! Ohmigod yes!” This was the response from a girl who had just been proposed to. A grinning waiter produced champagne for the happy couple while pointing discreetly in the direction of Mike's table.

 

“Young love,” sighed Mike. “There's nothing like it.”

 

“True,” conceded Greg. “You ever come close, Mike?”

 

“You mean marriage? No chance. I'm not exactly husband material. I've been in love before and, when you are, you think you can.move mountains. But he was only in it for what he could get.

It hurt, mind. Won't make that mistake again.”

 

Greg was about to reply when the newly-engaged couple appeared at their table; starry-eyed in love and unable to stop looking at or touching each other.

 

“Thank you for the champagne,” said the man.

 

“My pleasure. Congratulations.”

 

“Thank you,” gushed his fianceé. “I hope we're as happy together as you and your husband.” smiling at Mike and Greg before leaving with their arms around each other.

 

There followed a bout of adolescent giggling from both men before Mike settled the bill and they left the restaurant still sniggering.

 

The concert was inspiring. Greg has never really considered himself a lover of folky-type music but he loved it, interspersed as it was with a good dose of Geordie humour. It was during ‘Meet Me On The Corner’ that he saw Mike's eyes glistening with tears. Resolving to ask him about it later, he settled down to enjoy the rest.

 

“Will you be okay getting home?” asked Greg after they had cheered themselves hoarse at the end and made their way out of the venue.

 

“Yeah, of course. Look, thanks for tonight. It was brilliant.”

 

“I had a good time too,” replied Greg. “How about a pint later on in the week?”

 

“Lovely. Text me?”

 

“Sure. Here, you take the first cab.”

 

*

 

Monday at work Greg found himself humming Lindisfarne tunes all day, much to Sally Donovan’s annoyance.

 

“You don't have to listen,” he remarked. “I'm sure there's a big pile of filing somewhere that'll take you out of earshot.”

 

“Very funny.” she pouted. “You're awfully cheerful for a Monday. Got lucky at the weekend, did you?”

 

“I might have done,” smiled Greg giving absolutely nothing away. As Sally flounced off, he sent Mike a text.

 

_ Pint tonight? _

 

The reply was almost instantaneous.

 

_ Can't. Sorry. On call for trauma theatre till nine tomorrow morning. Really sorry.:( _

 

Greg felt incredibly disappointed. He had found it shockingly easy to spend time with Mike and he had really been looking forward to seeing him again. Then he had an idea.

 

*

 

Mike waved off his colleague's effusive thanks.

 

“It's fine, Steve. Just remember you owe me one. And try and remember that your missus has her birthday on the same day every year.”

 

Hands in the pockets of his lab coat, he trudged off to his office. It might not be too bad, he reasoned with himself. Might get some work for that paper on…

 

The bleep sounded even before he unlocked his office door.

 

As he was scrubbing up for a splenectomy, he sighed.

 

“You okay, Mr Stamford?” asked the F1 who was scrubbing up beside him.

 

“I gave up a pint with the most handsome man in England for this “ he complained.

 

The young wannabe surgeon looked at him askance and he laughed.

 

“Never mind me, bonny lass. I'm just whinging. Now, Dr Miller, have you done one of these before?”

 

“No, this will be my first, Mr Stamford.”

 

“Come on then. You can close for me. Let's see how much your suturing has improved.”

 

Suzanne Miller followed her consultant into the theatre where the patient was waiting for them, a young motorcyclist who'd had a fight with a delivery van and lost. To her horror, Mr Anders, the orthopaedic surgeon who had reduced her to tears during her rotation with him, was already there and tapping his foot impatiently.

 

“Hurry up, Stamford. This neck of femur won't pin itself!”

 

“Hello, Geoff.” said Mike cheerfully. “Piles still bothering you? Must be for you to be in such a ratty fettle. Let's get this poor sod stabilised first, shall we?”

 

Suzanne was pleased she was wearing a mask so that the arrogant Anders couldn't see her broad grin, and judging from the muffled sniggers of the others in theatre, she wasn't the only one amused by Mr Stamford putting the arrogant sod in his place.

 

She stood by Mike’s side, watching carefully as he deftly removed the young man’s trashed spleen, his skilful hands making it look incredibly simple which she knew it was not, his calm Northern voice talking her through each stage of the procedure. 

 

As he tied off the last vessel, he turned to her and said.

 

“Will you close up for me, Doctor Miller?”

 

“Happy to, Mr Stamford.”

 

She didn't feel unnerved at all.as she inserted a line of dissolvable stitches and stapled the wound closed all under his supervision.

 

“Nice job.” he said sincerely and she felt about ten feet tall. “Right, Geoff, “ said Mike to the other surgeon. “ Get the hammer and chisel out.”

 

It proved to be a very long night and by the time it came to go home, Mike was more than ready. He walked out of the staff entrance with Suzanne and they chatted about her next rotation.

 

“The A and E department isn't funny.” he agreed as she voiced her concerns. “If you want my advice, stay close to the nurse practitioner. She's forgotten more about wounds and stitching than even I have. And she's got the best coffee in the hospital.”

 

“Thanks for the tip,” she said.

 

“Mike!” yelled a perfectly familiar voice.

 

“What on earth is he doing here?” asked Mike in a tone of wonder.

 

“Who? Oh,wow, he's  _ gorgeous!”  _ Suzanne exclaimed as a handsome silver-haired man made his way towards her and her mentor.

 

“Go away,” said Mike to her out the corner of his mouth and she complied, grinning widely as she went towards her car. His secret was safe with her.

 

“Hello, Greg. What brings you here? Shouldn't you be out chasing criminals or something?”

 

“Charming,” said Greg flatly but with a twinkle in his eye. He held up two takeaway coffee cups. “Thought you could probably fancy one of these if the hospital coffee is as bad as the Yard’s.”

 

“God love you.” sighed Mike, taking one and sipping cautiously. It tasted like manna from Heaven. “Perfect.”

 

“I'll drive you home,” said Greg. “You look knackered.”

 

“You remembered that I never bring my car on on-call nights.” Mike was absurdly touched. “Thanks.” 

 

They got into Greg's car and Mike told him his address, wriggling till he was comfortable in the soft leather seat. It wasn't a long drive but Mike was yawning by the time Greg pulled up in front of his house.

 

“Do you want to come in?” offered Mike.

 

“Another time,” said Greg with a smile. “Get some kip and I'll swing by later and take you for a pint. How does seven o'clock sound?”

 

“Sounds great,” said Mike, trying and failing to stifle another yawn. “Thanks for coming this morning.”

 

“No problem. See you tonight.”

 

Greg waited till Mike had let himself into his house and shut the door before he drove away.

 

He was already looking forward to seven o'clock.

  
  


TBC. 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a revelatory talk with John Watson and finally asks Mike out properly. Too bad Christmas and family commitments get in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for BrynTWedge for gifting me with some beautiful art to go with this chapter and for being an amazing person all round.

PART THREE

It was some two weeks later. Greg stood respectfully at the side of the corpse while Sherlock pontificated and John took notes.

As Sherlock swept off to harangue the hapless Anderson, John tucked away his notebook and smiled at Greg.

“How are things with you and Mike?” he asked. “I haven't seen him in ages, he's always out somewhere with you.”

Greg brightened up at the mention of Mike's name.

“He's a really sweet man,” said Greg. “We have a lovely time together, but I've got to be honest, John. I don't think he's attracted to me.” 

John's look of utter disbelief would have made Greg laugh at any other time.

“You actually  _ do  _ own a mirror, don't you? Good God, you're the most handsome man I've ever met. No, it's not that. Mike's been badly hurt before, he probably thinks you're just being a good mate. That you'd never fancy someone like him.

Greg's expression darkened and he scowled.

“I would never hurt him,” he hissed. “And I’ll do my best to try and rid him of the stupid idea that he’s not attractive. He’s lovely.”

John raised his hands in surrender. “You’re telling the wrong person, mate. “

“I’m sorry,” said Greg ruefully. “I thought I’d got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Looks like I’ll have to up my game a bit.”

“Spare me the details though, yeah?” pleaded John and was relieved to see Greg laugh.

“Coming to the Christmas bash?” asked John.

“Yeah, I’ll look in. It’ll be good to see the old place all spruced up. A bit like old times.”

John didn’t say anything. Too much water under the bridge for that to happen but he would make the effort. For Sherlock’s sake. And Rosie’s. And Mrs Hudson's.

“When you two have finished gossiping like a pair of housewives on market day,” announced Sherlock, “ I actually have something that might help with this case.”

Greg and John grinned at each other before walking over to the triumphant detective to see what he had discovered.

*

The next time Greg saw Mike, he wanted so desperately to ask him out properly. It was a very casual meeting after work. Too early for the pub or dinner so they grabbed coffees and went to sit in the park. It was a beautiful crisp December day, the kind that heralded a proper winter and they sat on a handy bench and chatted. Mike seemed awfully distracted, Greg finally wormed it out of him that he was worried a few of his favourite students might struggle with their viva and was wondering if teaching was really the thing for him. 

Greg had tried to reassure him, he knew for a fact after talking to John that Mike was an inspired lecturer whose students adored him, but he wasn’t sure it helped and he realised that suddenly announcing the fact that he fancied Mike a hell of a lot might backfire on him. He decided to let it lie. There would be other opportunities.

*

Greg arrived at Baker Street a little later than he had planned. His arms were full of presents for Rosie, John and Sherlock with a card for Mrs Hudson letting her know that a hamper would be delivered on Christmas Eve, full of her favourite things.

Greg loved Christmas, even though he spent most of them at work he loved the festive spirit which seemed to permeate everywhere; twinkling fairy lights in the windows,the street decorations,  the smell of baking, even hearing ‘Merry Xmas Everyone’ by Slade in every shop he went into failed to spoil his mood.

He eagerly climbed the stairs to 221B, noting the new wallpaper on the stairwell and the smell of the coal fire. He opened the door to the flat and went inside.

“Hello Graham,” said Sherlock. “Help yourself to whatever you want to drink from the kitchen.”

Greg looked around. The entire flat had been put back together almost the same as before it had been blown up. There was even a yellow smiley face on one wall peppered with bullet holes. Mrs Hudson was sitting in John’s chair with a glass of wine, John was chatting to Molly and her new boyfriend while in Sherlock’s chair, with Rosie on his knee was Mike.

“It’s Greg,” he retorted. “Hello, everyone. I’ll just grab a beer.”

Confused, he retreated to the kitchen. He couldn’t remember Mike saying he would be here, but the last time he had seen him, they had spent their time talking about superhero films and debated the merits of the new Arsenal signing. It was hardly the stuff of heady romance, but enjoyable nonetheless. Christmas had never been mentioned.

He took a bottle of lager from the kitchen and rejoined the party,dumping the load of presents under the tree, casually walking over to Mike and Rosie and was rewarded with a beaming smile from both of them. 

Rosie was ready for bed in a sleepsuit with ducks on, while Mike looked, in Greg’s eyes, adorable in a Christmas jumper with reindeers printed all over it.

“Hello,” said Greg, his smile warm and inviting.”I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“John asked me,” said Mike. “And he might have mentioned you’d be here so…”

“Nice. Let me get you a refill, seeing as Miss Watson isn’t letting go of you any time soon.”

“Thanks, Greg.” smiled Mike, handing him his glass.

Greg refilled Mike’s glass and perched on the arm of the chair, sipping at his lager while the talk swirled around him. He liked being so close to Mike, he smelled wonderful and Greg was tempted to put an arm around him to bring him closer still.

Rosie’s head began to droop, and John swooped in to take her up to bed, finally freeing Mike.

“I can’t believe how much she’s grown,” smiled Mike, relaxing back into the chair. Greg laid his arm across the back. Molly noticed the mildly possessive gesture and smiled to herself.

“Yes, John will have his hands full soon,” agreed Greg. “Look, Mike. I wanted to talk to you.”

Emboldened by the drink and Mike’s look of genuine curiosity, Greg ploughed on.

“We’ve been seeing a lot of each other recently, haven’t we?”

“Well, yes. It’s nice to have a mate to go for a pint with who doesn’t want to talk shop all the time.” agreed Mike, then he frowned.

“What’s the matter, bonny lad? You look awful serious.”

“I very much want to keep seeing you.” continued Greg.”But not as a friend. The thing is, Mike, I really like you. I wonder if you’d consider going on a date with me.”

“You’ve gone awful red, Greg. You’re too close to the fire,” smiled Mike, while his thoughts were in turmoil.He knew Greg Lestrade was a good and decent man who wasn’t fond of cruel practical jokes. He was genuinely serious.

“I’d love to,” he replied softly. Greg’s smile at his response could have lit up the whole room. “But it might have to wait a bit.”

“I know,” sighed Greg. “Christmas.”

“And the wedding.”

“Yeah.New Year’s Day, isn’t it?”

“Aye. And I wouldn’t inflict a tribe of Stamfords on my worst enemy, let alone you. How about when I get back? It seems ages to wait.”

“I don’t mind,” said Greg comfortably. “I can wait a bit longer.”

“That’s good. I can promise you won’t be disappointed.”

With that enigmatic remark, Mike got up in search of more wine, Greg watching his every move until he returned.

*

“Merry Christmas, sir.” Sally Donovan handed Greg a well-wrapped parcel as they sat in the almost-deserted CID office.

“Cheers, Sally. Have a present.”

She opened hers and stared covetously at the luxurious collection of beauty products from Lush, while he unwrapped a beautiful cashmere scarf with matching gloves in a deep plum colour.

“Thanks,” they said simultaneously and giggled.

“Going to your folks tomorrow?” asked Greg.

“Yup. Mum always keeps Christmas dinner until the whole family can be round the table. Her and Dad are having cheese on toast and tomato soup today and probably fighting over the telly remote. What about you?”

“Nothing special planned,” he said with a shrug. He knew Mike was on-call until well into Boxing Day so he had resolved to settle for the football on the telly and a takeaway.

Greg and Sally returned from a shout just as it was starting to get dark outside. Luckily it hadn’t been anything too serious, the offenders were now in the care of the custody sergeant and both were more than ready for a mug of coffee and a trip to see if there was anything remotely edible left in the canteen.

Just then, Greg’s desk phone rang.

Grumbling, he answered it.

“Lestrade.”

“Sir, this is the front desk. There’s a Santa Claus here to see you.”

“Oh, very funny!” snarled Greg.

“I’m serious. He says he needs to see you before the wedding.”

“I’ll be right down,”

Greg hung up the phone.

“Sally, can you make yourself scarce for a while?”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a visitor.” he could feel himself going red and Sally’s look of scandalised delight wasn’t helping. “Please, Sal.”

“All right, I’ll see what’s in the canteen. Ring me when the coast’s clear.”

Greg made his way to reception and, sure enough, Santa Claus,compete with sack of presents, was waiting for him. Under the fake beard, Greg could see Mike’s eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Sort Saint Nick out with a visitor’s pass, will you?” said Greg to the officer behind the desk who duly obliged.

Mike followed Greg back to the CID office.Once inside he took off the beard and the hat.

“What’s all this?” asked Greg.

Mike smiled. “I always play Santa for the kids who’re stuck in hospital over Christmas. I've got the figure for it, you see. And I was at a loose end so I thought Santa could come and visit his favourite policeman. Now, Greg, have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“I haven't had a chance to be be naughty,” laughed Greg.

“No, you haven’t have you? Poor lad. Here’s a present anyway.”

Greg tore the paper off to reveal a jewellers box which he opened to find an exquisite watch. Nothing too flash or ostentatious and perfect for everyday.

“This is lovely, thank you. I’ve got yours at home. I had hoped to see you for a little while tomorrow.”

“That’s another reason for visiting,” smiled Mike. “ I’d like you to come for dinner at my house tomorrow. After what you said at Baker Street it’s ridiculous to think that we can’t fit in an actual date before New Year. Say seven o’clock?”

“Seven will be perfect,” smiled Greg. “And there  _ is  _ a present I can give you today. Look up.”

Mike looked at the ceiling to see that someone had pinned a sprig of mistletoe there and grinned.

“Perfect. Come here.”

His arms slid around Greg and he stood on his tiptoes to kiss him. Greg’s lips were soft and warm and they parted willingly. It was soft and tentative and full of promise for the future.

“Merry Christmas, Greg.” murmured Mike into the warmth of Greg’s neck.

“Merry Christmas, Mike.” smiled Greg.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Boxing Day date almost ends in disaster but instead ends rather sweetly.

~~~~

PART FOUR

  
  
  


Greg saw Mike out of the building and returned to find Sally there with the biggest smirk on her face.

 

“I saw Gre...heg kissing Santa Claus.” she warbled. “C’mon boss. Tell me. Who is he?” 

 

“None of your business,” he retorted while completely unable to keep the grin off his face.

 

“Oh, c’mon Greg! Throw me a bone here. Is he the reason you've been so happy recently?”

 

Greg felt just a little too hot in the face as he replied.

 

“Yes, I suppose he is.”

 

Sally became serious and said.

 

“All kidding aside, Greg. I'm made up for you. It's about time you had some luck.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I'm keeping this very low-key, Sal. I don't want three-quarters of the relief knowing about this by Boxing Day.”

 

“No one will hear it from me,” she promised. On one condition.”

 

Greg covered his eyes with both hands.

 

“What?”

 

“Tell me his name.”

 

“His name's Mike. He's a doctor. Happy now?”

 

She just grinned.

 

*

 

Mike was exhausted. The sweet interlude with Greg had been the highlight of Christmas Day. As he worked his way through trauma after trauma case he wondered, as he had so many times before, why people could do such utterly repugnant things to each other with knives, blunt instruments and even their own bodies.

 

By the time two o'clock rolled around on Boxing Day, he was more than happy to hand over the on-call bleep, change out of his scrubs and get the hell out of Dodge.

 

As he switched on his mobile there was a text from Greg.

 

_ Red or white? G.x _

 

Mike smiled and texted back.

 

_ Better bring the whole vineyard. Red for preference. You're not allergic to anything or hate the taste of anything?xx _

 

Greg replied in the negative.

 

He had the fixings of a beef stroganoff at home, one of his specialities, and he was looking forward to sharing it with Greg. He enjoyed cooking but found it tedious when it was only for himself.

 

When Mike got home he showered and changed. He switched on the Christmas tree lights, the gas fire and the side lamps in the living room so it looked cosily intimate and sat in his favourite armchair.

 

“Just for a minute,” he muttered to himself.”Before I get the beef on.” 

 

Something startled him awake and, muzzily, he wondered why he was in the living room with drool on his chin and his glasses askew. He yelped as he checked the time.

 

“Oh, shovels of shite!” he groaned. He had slept for four hours and Greg was due to arrive in fifteen minutes. He wasn't even here yet and already the night was a disaster.

 

Mike looked around distractedly. There was no point in starting to cook anything now, if he did they'd end up eating at midnight. Then the takeaway menus stuck to the fridge caught his eye and he sighed with relief and picked up his mobile.

 

“Pearl of the Orient,” said a bored voice at the end of the phone.

 

“Hello, Lisa, it's Mr Stamford.”

 

“Mr Stamford! “ she didn't sound bored now, only eager to please. “What can I get for you?”

 

“The Mandarin’s Banquet for two, pet. With extra prawn crackers. Fried rice, not boiled. And tell Lee there's an extra twenty for him if he can get it here in half an hour.”

 

“I'll make sure it is there. Goodnight, sir.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

Mike hung up happily.  Greg had said once before that he adored Chinese food so there was every chance he'd appreciate this. Mike certainly did, he was convinced he was their best customer.

 

At seven o'clock on the dot, Mike's doorbell rang and there was Greg, laden with carrier bags.

 

“I was kidding about the vineyard,” said Mike as he took Greg's coat and hung it up, following him into the living room. Mike had to admit, his guest looked delectable in charcoal grey jeans and a black crew-neck jumper.

 

“I brought a mixture of reds,” said Greg. “Wasn't sure which would go best with stroganoff. What?” He had caught Mike's guilty expression.

 

“Slight change of plan.” Mike confessed. “We're having Chinese instead. I fell asleep when I got home so I'm afraid my signature dish is still in its component parts in the fridge.”

 

Greg laughed but then looked closer at Mike.

 

“You do look tired,” he said. “And Chinese is perfect. We'll save the beef for another day, eh?” Greg then handed Mike the other bags he was carrying. “Merry Christmas, love.”

 

“You shouldn't have,” muttered Mike as he sat on the sofa with Greg next to him as he opened his presents.

 

First was an exquisite pair of cufflinks with the Newcastle United crest enamelled on them. The size of two five-pence pieces, the detail was incredible.

 

“These are wonderful,” said Mike. “You noticed I don't wear shirts with cuff buttons. Someone might think you were a detective or something.”

 

Greg just smiled and urged him to open the next one. Mike was grinning as he opened a gift basket.

 

“A Taste of Tyneside? What’ve we got in here?”

 

There was some rustling then.

 

“Good grief! Pease pudding, black and white bangers, Wylam craft ale, Tyneside cheese and, Christ, black bullets! I haven't had those since I was a bairn.”

 

“I have to admit, some of that sounded quite alarming.” said Greg with a smile.

 

“It's a taste of home.” smiled Mike.”Throw in a couple of stotties and a pork dip and you'd have the lot.”

 

“I really don't want to know.”

 

Mike kissed him, a brief peck on the lips.

 

“Thanks for all this, Greg. It's incredibly thoughtful.”

 

“There's one more,” Greg pointed out.

 

“The Best of Lindisfarne,” Mike held the CD with something like reverence. “Perfect.”

 

The doorbell rang again and Mike went to answer it, asking Greg to open the wine to let it breathe.

 

“Corkscrew’s in the top drawer, pet.” Mike told him. “Straight past the dining room.”

 

Greg walked through, smiling at the table that had been set for two with crystal and china and rummaged in the drawer, extracting the corkscrew and pulling the cork on a bottle of Shiraz. He placed it on the table as Mike appeared with the takeaway bags.

 

“Sit down, pet while I get some serving spoons. Are you okay with chopsticks or would you prefer a fork?”

 

“Chopsticks are fine,” replied Greg, helping Mike unload the bags. His stomach rumbled as he caught the smell of sweet and sour and he grinned, embarrassed.

 

“Didn't have a chance to eat much today with one thing and another.” Greg admitted.

 

“Then you won't be disappointed with this,” said Mike.

 

It was a veritable feast; delicate spring rolls, tender beef and moist chicken with all the fixings and Greg devoured everything he put on his plate. His gaze kept returning to Mike's hands as they deftly managed his food with the chopsticks. He imagined those talented hands on his body and shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he felt himself stir.

 

They chatted with the familiar ease of friends until the food and wine was gone and they sat, replete.

 

“I'm stuffed!” groaned Mike. 

 

“Me too. That was seriously lovely, Mike.”

 

“I'll give them your compliments next time I'm in,” said Mike, standing up and starting to clear away.

 

“I'll help with the dishes,” offered Greg.

 

“No need. Dishwasher will sort them. Take the rest of the bottle into the living room, I'll be through in a minute.”

 

Greg sat back on the sofa and Mike joined him seconds later.

 

“Footy highlights will be on,” said Mike, picking up the remote and switching on the tv. He stiffened momentarily as he felt Greg's arm slide round him and draw Mike close against him, then relaxed against Greg's shoulder.

 

“Are you okay?” asked Greg. Mike's body language had not gone unnoticed.

 

“Yes. More than okay. I just can't shake the feeling that this is an incredibly vivid dream.” Mike took another sip of wine. “I'm going to wake up alone in bed any minute now.”

 

Greg's warm breath ghosted over his cheek as he leaned forward to kiss Mike and was delighted with the enthusiasm of the response.

 

“You're so lovely,” murmured Greg as they broke for air, his thumb gently stroking Mike's cheek. “Oh, bollocks! Arsenal got beat!”

 

Mike dissolved into giggles.

 

“Now I know I'm not dreaming,” he snorted. 

 

Greg couldn't help but join in.

 

“Sorry. That should have been a lot more romantic.”

 

“It was real and it was perfect.” said Mike seriously. “Greg…”

 

“Mike, listen. Technically this is our first date. I’m not going to rush you into anything or pressure you into anything other than seeing me again. After all,” he continued with a grin. “You still owe me a stroganoff.”

 

“Such a smooth talker,” laughed Mike but Greg could see relief in the other man's eyes. Whether it was from being told Greg wanted to see him again or from Greg letting him dictate the pace, he wasn't sure and didn't much care.

 

He was content to have Mike in his arms, his warm, comfortable body promised Greg the softest of landings whenever they agreed to take it further.

 

Mike relaxed against Greg, cherishing his solid presence, relieved Greg was willing to be patient.

 

Mike still bore many mental scars from his last relationship and he hoped, with Greg's help, that he might finally start to heal.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is curious about the contents of Mike's gift basket, feel free to ask.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At a Newcastle wedding, Greg learns about Mike's last relationship. He wants to lay the ghost of that and Mike is very willing.

PART FIVE

  
  
  


Mike dragged his heels and his cabin bag through the Domestic Departures at Heathrow, his suit carrier draped over one arm, listlessly going through the check-in procedure and finding his way to the departure lounge.

 

He checked his phone and smiled when he saw a text from Greg.

 

_ Safe trip. Text me when you get there. I'm trying to wangle NYD off so I can be there. Missing you already xxxx _

 

Mike tapped in his reply.

 

_ In Departures at Heathrow. I'll be over the moon if you can make it. Thanks for last night. I'll text you as soon as I land xx _

 

Mike grinned to himself. Last night he and Greg had gone to a comedy club and laughed so much that Mike's sides still ached. Greg had drove him home and had proceeded to snog Mike senseless in the car.

 

“Don't you want to come in?” Mike had asked, a little breathless and more than a little turned on.

 

“Very much,” Greg had replied, his eyes dark and his voice scratchy with want.” But you've got an early flight tomorrow and I'm not ringing your sister to tell her you missed it because you were in bed with me.”

 

“Good point.” conceded Mike. “Come with me. To the wedding. Come as my plus one.”

 

“Are you sure?” Greg had asked.

 

“Very. If you can get the time off. Come up North for a few days. It'll do us both good to get out of London.”

 

“I'll do my best. Someone must owe me a favour.” Greg had agreed.

 

It would have been ludicrous to fly all the way to Newcastle with his fingers crossed, so Mike didn't. It was only a short flight and , before he knew it, he was walking out of the airport to the taxi rank. He gave his sister's address to the driver and leaned back in his seat watching, as always, to see what had changed since he was last there.

 

The driver was taciturn to the point of silent so Mike relaxed. He would be talking plenty once he reached Joanie’s house if, that was, he could get a word in edgeways.

 

The taxi pulled up outside the house and Mike got out only to be almost bowled over by the bride-to-be who grabbed and hugged him.

 

“Uncle Mikey!” she shrieked at an ear-splitting volume. 

 

“Waity Katie,” he grinned, kissing her cheek. “Let's have a look at you. Haven't seen you since your graduation.”

 

His niece took after her father; tall and thin with poker-straight brown hair and green eyes. Love had made her even more beautiful and Mike admired the ring on her finger.

 

“That's some rock, bonny lass. You could have someone's eye out with that.”

 

She laughingly swatted him on the arm.

 

“So where's your plus one?” she asked. “Mam said you were bringing someone.”

 

They walked up the path to the front door.

 

“Still in London. I don't think he'll be able to make it, pet. I'm sure he'll wish you and Peter every happiness though.”

 

“So how did you meet him?”

 

Mike pushed her gently on the shoulder.

 

“That's my line. I want to know about the lad who's brave enough to have your mam as a mother-in-law.”

 

Katie opened the front door and he followed her inside. She pulled up a photo on her phone of herself arm in arm with a handsome black man.

 

“That's Peter. His parents and sisters arrived yesterday so we've put them up at the Marriott. Mam is going loopy and Dad is hiding in the shed.”

 

“Are you not nervous?” he asked.

 

“I'm terrified,” she admitted.

 

“Thank Christ!” exclaimed a female voice. “You're finally here.”

 

Mike was enveloped in another perfumed hug, this time from his big sister who looked at him critically as she released him.

 

“Working too hard, Michael. You look drained.”

 

“I've missed you too, Joanie.” he laughed.

 

“I've made up Stephen's old room for you and I've booked a room at the hotel for your Greg. Where is he, by the way?”

 

“Twenty questions,” sighed Mike. “I don't know if he can make it, so I'll stay there instead. I don't want to impose.”

 

“He's not another Simon, is he?” asked Joan suspiciously. “I didn't think you'd ever get over what that bastard did to you.”

 

“He's not. And I'm fine now

“

 

She frowned, unconvinced.

 

“Leave your suit here and you can come over first thing and get changed. We're all going to The Last Days of the Raj for dinner tonight.”

 

“No hen party?” teased Mike.

 

Katie blanched. “We had a weekend in Amsterdam last week. I don't think my liver will ever forgive me.”

 

Mike chuckled and put his suit carrier in the bedroom, firing off a quick text to Greg to let him know he was here safe and sound.

 

The restaurant was one of the best curry houses in town and Mike sat, much later, replete with chicken Madras listening to his family trying to out-talk each other. His nephew Stephen chatted nervously about the following day and Mike tried to reassure him that being an usher wouldn't be nearly as taxing as his next surgical rotation.

 

He hugged his family after promising to be there early the next day and took a taxi to his hotel. The New Year celebrations were in full swing but Mike was suddenly exhausted and went to his room, lying on the bed and flicking through the channels on the tv. He drifted off and was awoken by the sound of fireworks both on and off the tv and the chiming of his mobile.

 

_ Happy New Year xxxx _

 

He texted back.

 

_ Happy New Year. I miss you. _

 

Setting his phone alarm, he went to sleep.

 

The following day passed in a whirl of florists, vintage cars and trying not to cry when he saw Katie in her wedding dress. 

 

The ceremony was held at the hotel in a gorgeously decorated room and Mike sat proudly beside his family as Katie and Peter exchanged rings and vows.

 

His brother-in-law collared him after the ceremony and invited him outside for a cigar while the photographer did her thing.

 

“Lovely do.” said Mike, puffing on a Havana in the garden.

 

“Aye. He's a good lad. He'll make her happy.” replied David. His brother-in-law was a pathologist and not generally noted for his sense of humour but there was quiet pride in his eyes as he inhaled more of the fragrant smoke.

 

“Better get back,” he continued, stubbing out his cigar on a handy cherub. “They'll want us for the photos.”

 

They did. Every combination and permutation of family and friends was photographed in the hotel grounds in the sparkling winter sunshine and there was almost a stampede to get back inside when the waitress announced that mulled wine was being served in the function room.

 

Mike sneaked a look at his phone and swore under his breath when he found a blank screen. He had forgotten to charge it up.

 

The wedding breakfast proceeded without a hitch, telegrams were read, speeches given and toasts drunk before everyone tucked into a lavish spread. 

 

Mike sat at a table with some of Peter's family and a few of his own relations. Peter’s sister Anastasia was a barrister and they chatted about law.

 

“It's a lovely change to talk to someone who isn't a doctor.” Mike admitted. “Usually all our family does is talk shop. Where did you say your chambers were?”

 

“Garden Court,” said Anastasia. “We get a lot of criminal work. Do you work up here Mike?”

 

“No, Bart's in London. General surgery. I teach a bit as well.”

 

“Peter loves it up here,” she went on. “Mum would have been happier if he'd stayed in London but you've got to go where the opportunities are.”

 

“True.”

 

They clinked glasses and Mike topped her up.

 

They were talking about favourite places in London when Anastasia stopped mid-sentence.

 

“Wow! Who's he? Phwoar, if he's a doctor he can take my pulse any time.”

 

“Who?” asked Mike who had his back to the door. 

 

“Him!” Anastasia gestured wildly behind him.

 

Mike turned and his heart stopped. There in the doorway, looking uncertain, his eyes scanning the room was Greg.

 

“Sorry, Anastasia. That one's spoken for. He's mine.”

 

“Lucky git.” she grumbled, but Mike was already halfway across the room.

 

Greg's face lit up when he saw Mike, smiling when he saw what a dapper figure Mike cut in his wedding clothes.

 

“You came!” exclaimed Mike, grinning all over his face, his eyes full of wonder.

 

“Sorry I couldn't get here quicker,” said Greg, taking Mike's hands in his.

 

“Doesn't matter. You're here now.”

 

“You look great in that suit,” said Greg approvingly.

 

“You're not too shabby yourself, pet.” 

 

That was an understatement. In a dark grey suit, plain white shirt and amethyst tie Greg was the best looking man in the room.

 

“Come and have a seat. I'll introduce you to everyone later. Better brace yourself for that.” 

 

Greg laughed, his dark eyes crinkling with pleasure as Mike led him to his table past many pairs of curious eyes.

 

Greg charmed everyone at the table within minutes of sitting down with his self-effacing manner and his ability to talk to absolutely anyone. As the servers cleared away the detritus of the meal, people stood up and started to mingle.

 

“Are you hungry?” asked Mike. “I'm sure the kitchen can whip you up something.”

 

“No, I'm fine. I had something at the airport. I could fancy a pint though.”

 

“The bar’s through here. Come on.”

 

Their progress was inhibited firstly by the bride and groom who were trying to circumnavigate the room and talk to everyone.

 

“Is this Greg?” asked Katie.

 

“Greg Lestrade. Congratulations. I hope you'll both be very happy.” said Greg, shaking Peter's hand and kissing Katie on the cheek, Mike smiled at the thumbs-up from his niece flashed behind Greg's back.

 

“It's lovely to meet you,” said Katie. “Uncle Mikey says you're a policeman.”

 

“That's right.Detective Inspector. Don't let me monopolize you though, there are lots of other people waiting to congratulate you.”

 

“Thank you for coming,” added Peter. “You've made Mike's day.”

 

Smiling, the couple moved off to talk to some others as Greg and Mike made their way to the bar.

 

“Stunning girl.” said Greg. “Must run in the family.” He smiled at Mike who blushed.

 

“Give over,” he pleaded.

 

They had just been served with two pints when Mike muttered to Greg.

 

“Brace yourself, bonny lad. Here comes the Inquisition.”

 

Greg looked around to see a woman bearing down on them. She could only be Mike's sister, the resemblance was uncanny. Quickly Greg swallowed some of his beer as she did not look friendly.

 

“Is this him?” she asked abruptly. Mike winced.

 

“Doctor Brown, hello. I'm Greg Lestrade.”

 

Joan looked him up and down and scowled.

 

“Handsome git, aren't you? How did you meet my brother?”

 

Greg realised that telling her he had knocked Mike flying wouldn't exactly make her warm to him.

 

“Through a mutual friend. John Watson.”

 

“I know John,” she admitted. “Nothing personal, Greg. I'm very protective of my baby brother. I don't want to have to be the one to pick up the pieces when he gets his heart stamped on again.”

 

Greg stayed calm as he knew her suspicion was born of the urge to protect. There was no malice involved there.

 

“I have no intention of doing anything to hurt him.” Greg said. “Mike is very special to me and that's all that should concern you.”

 

“We’ll see.” she said and stalked away.

 

“I am so sorry.” Mike had such an appalled expression on his face that Greg couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

 

“It's fine,” soothed Greg. “But I think we should talk. She's the second person to more or less tell me your last relationship was a disaster.”

 

“That's putting it mildly. Okay, let's find somewhere quiet.”

 

Outside the day was drawing to a close and Greg and Mike found a table close to a massive patio heater.

 

“I swore off relationships five years ago because of Simon Treadgold.” Mike began.” I was naive and stupid and he hurt me very badly. He was an actor. We met at a party and he never left my side. I was flattered cos he looked like a Greek god and he seemed so nice. I wondered what a fat little surgeon had that attracted someone like that.”

 

Greg took Mike's hand and held it, feeling anger at someone he had never met boiling up inside him. 

 

“Once we were well into a relationship, I found out. Money. That was all he was interested in. I indulged him for a while, it was nice to have someone to spoil. Told him I loved him. Then his demands, that's what they were I know now, became ludicrous. I learned to say no thinking I was being reasonable. We loved each other. Money shouldn't come into it. That was when he showed his true colours. He left me, told me in front of half a dozen other people that I repulsed him and that I was a lousy fuck. Oh, they all said it was terrible what he had said but I could see they were secretly pleased. I had flaunted this gorgeous man in front of them. The love of my life. Now I had nothing. So you see, pet, it took a long time for it to sink in that you were genuinely interested. Why would someone as beautiful as you want anything to do with a sad case like me?”

 

Greg had never been so furious in his life. He wanted to hunt down this bastard and kill him for what he had done to this incredible man sitting across from him, wiping his eyes, clearly traumatised from retelling this horror story.

 

“Listen to me,” said Greg firmly. “What happened wasn't your fault. That tosser didn't deserve you. Mike, I adore you. I have since the day I met you. You're kind and funny and you make my heart sing every time I see you. I'm not interested in your money. I'm here because I want to be. Not for what I can get out of it. Am I getting through?” 

 

“Loud and clear,” said Mike with a watery smile. “I hoped I wasn't wrong about you.”

 

“You're not. Now let's go back to the party. I'll try and convince your sister I'm not a gold digger and we can get drunk and hold hands under the table.”

 

“Sounds perfect.” sighed Mike. He drew Greg to his feet, smiling up into his eyes then Greg was kissing him, warming his lips on Mike's, parting to allow their tongues to engage in a slow sinuous dance that left them both starry-eyed and wanting.

 

“I don't think there's a spare room in the hotel,” said Mike, his eyes shining as he looked at Greg. “Would you like to share mine?”

 

Greg smiled and held Mike close to him.

 

“I'd like nothing better,” he admitted. “Are you sure?”

 

“I've never been more sure if anything in my life, Greg.” replied Mike firmly.

 

“Good.” And Greg kissed him again.

 

TBC

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a blissful time up North, Mike and Greg return to London where there's a not-very-welcome surprise waiting which will test their new found happiness.

PART SIX

  
  
  


They returned to the function room hand in hand just in time to see the newlywed’s first dance.

 

“Gravity by Elbow?” asked Greg. “Bit unusual innit?”

 

“It's their song,” said Mike, a fond smile on his face. “Could have been very different.”

 

“Smack My Bitch Up?” suggested Greg.

 

“Who's Sorry Now?” added Mike.

 

They looked at each other and dissolved into silent hysterics.

 

“More beer?” said Greg.

 

“More beer “ agreed Mike.

 

As the party started to wind down, Joan approached her brother who was dancing with Greg. They had their arms around each other and Mike's head was on Greg's shoulder as they swayed in time to the music. Greg had the softest expression on his face as he looked at Mike and Joan felt her worries about him lessen slightly. Greg was obviously smitten, it was plain as the nose on his face. 

 

She tapped Mike on the shoulder.

 

“We're off. Come and see us before you go back. You too, Greg.”

 

“I will. Promise. Love you.” said Mike.

 

As time was called at the bar, the two of them, by unspoken agreement headed upstairs. 

 

“Some day,” yawned Greg as Mike opened the door to his hotel room. 

 

“It really was,” agreed Mike, closing and locking the door behind him.

 

He began to feel nervous as Greg pulled off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt. Greg caught his eye and smiled.

 

“I'll use the bathroom first. S’alright, love. I'm knackered. You'd have more luck raising the Titanic.”

 

By the time Mike emerged from the bathroom, Greg was fast asleep, curled up on the right-hand side of the bed. Mike crawled in beside him, taking off his glasses and putting them on the bedside table. He switched off the bedside light and was asleep in seconds. 

 

He awoke the next morning fuzzy headed with Greg's arm around him, holding him close. Mike snuggled against Greg and smiled when he felt a warm kiss on the back of his neck.

 

“Morning, gorgeous.” said Greg. 

 

“Morning, Blind Pew,” replied Mike.

 

Greg's hand moved slowly over Mike's chest.

 

“You feel wonderful,” he sighed.

 

Mike could feel Greg's erection pressing into his back and flushed with pleasure. Greg wanted him. It was the perfect start to the day.

 

Mike turned over and his lips met Greg's indulging in an unhurried snog as Greg's hands wandered under Mike's t-shirt, tugging it up to get better access.

 

Greg suspected Mike would be a little uncertain; hurt caused in bed whether it be verbal or physical always took the longest to heal but Mike pulled off his shirt and Greg kissed every inch of skin as it was revealed. Beautiful soft skin, pale as fresh cream and Greg praised him to the hilt.

 

“So gorgeous,” he moaned as his tongue licked a broad stripe between Mike's nipples, making him gasp.

 

Soon they were both naked, the duvet abandoned on the floor as they explored, kissed and fondled each other, Greg revelling in the feeling of having Mike's hands on him at last.

 

Greg gasped aloud as Mike grasped his cock and began to stroke it.

 

“You've got an incredible touch.” he whimpered. “I could come just from this.”

 

“Do it,” urged Mike. 

 

Greg surrendered to the pleasure rippling through him, Mike's touch the only thing that mattered in the world as his hips left the mattress and he spilled all over Mike's hand.

 

Mike held him till he recovered then with a lazy smile Greg pushed him onto his back.

 

“Let me taste you,” he said, sliding down between Mike's thighs. Mike's hands in his hair and the soft groans of pleasure were all the encouragement Greg needed, with his talented mouth he swiftly had Mike begging Greg to finish him before bringing him to an earth-shattering climax.

 

They lay together afterwards, drowsing in between kisses, just content to be together like this at last.

 

Eventually Mike enticed Greg from their bed with the promise of breakfast and watched, astonished, as Greg ploughed his way through a full English followed by toast and an endless supply of coffee while Mike nibbled on a croissant and sliced the fruit he had ordered.

 

“I'm always famished after a good shag,” confided Greg with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

 

“I'll bear that in mind,” laughed Mike. “We've got a whole day spare before we need to go back. What would you like to do?”

 

“You. Several times. But I'm not seventeen anymore so how about you show me around Newcastle?”

 

Mike laughed again. He wasn't sure if it was the release of tension or endorphins or what but it seemed like years since he had felt this good.

 

 “You're terrible. And yes, I'll give you the guided tour. Starting at St James’s Park.”

 

Greg groaned and covered his face with both hands.

 

*

 

The thought of going anywhere north of the M25 was usually enough to bring Greg out in hives, but he was quietly impressed with Newcastle. As Mike had threatened, they started at the football stadium which was quite imposing. They window shopped in Northumberland Street and browsed in the gift shop of the Theatre Royal before having lunch in the heart of Chinatown.

 

“It's really nice here,” said Greg approvingly.

 

“It's a lot quieter than London,” agreed Mike. “It's changed such a lot since I left. I don't know that I could live here anymore.”

 

“Were you planning on it?” Greg asked.

 

“About six months ago I heard on the grapevine that the Dean of Medicine at Newcastle Uni was retiring. When the post was advertised, I applied. Well, there was nothing keeping me in London. But I never heard anything. Probably for the best.”

 

Greg didn't know why he felt hurt, after all six months ago Mike was only a name to him, one of the mates John talked about occasionally. In the time they had been together they hadn't had a chance to talk about  _ everything.  _

 

Some of this must have shown on his face for Mike looked a bit sheepish.

 

“I should probably have mentioned it but I never got a reply and the next thing I knew I was being knocked off my feet by the world's most beautiful man. Everything else seemed a heck of a lot less important after that.”

 

Greg smiled and took Mike's hand, stroking his thumb over Mike's knuckles.

 

“S’alright, there's lots I probably haven't told you but really, I'm not that interested in the past. What I  _ am _ interested in is the future. As long as you are in mine I’m sure I'll be happy.”

 

“I want to make you happy for the rest of your life,” said Mike seriously. “If you'll let me.”

 

“I'm probably far too old for you.” Greg warned him.”Married to the job. Probably why both my exes played hide-the-salami with anyone willing.”

 

Mike extended his hand over the table.

 

“Hi. Mike Stamford. Consultant general surgeon and pathology lecturer. Never put in less than a 70 hour week. Got a fondness for handsome blokes with a talent for using and abusing people. Greg, we're two of a kind which is probably why we fit so well together in every sense of the word. Now, I need to go and see my sister before we head back. You don't have to come if you don't want to. Joanie's a bit much sometimes.”

 

“You don't get rid of me that easily.” said Greg with a grin. “I can hardly convince her of my honourable intentions towards her little brother if I duck out at the first opportunity, can I?”

 

“That's true,” chuckled Mike.”Let's get it over with.”

 

*

 

They arrived back at Heathrow the following afternoon and took a cab, by mutual agreement, to Mike's house in Chelsea. Greg was happy to be back in London. This was his city, his manor and he breathed in the smell of it.

 

When Mike opened his front door there was a pile of mail on the doormat.

 

“You'd think you'd been away for a week,” laughed Greg.

 

“Probably all junk,” said Mike dismissively. “Put the kettle on, pet. I'm gasping.”

 

Greg wandered into the kitchen and pressed the switch on the kettle, finding clean mugs and teabags, talking about dropping into the Yard to see if there was anything urgent. That was when he realised he'd lost his audience.

 

“Mike? Did you get lost?” he yelled.

 

Mike stumbled into the kitchen with a letter in his hand, his expression half euphoric, half horrified.

 

“Christ, what the…”

 

Mike handed him the letter and slumped against the kitchen counter.

 

It was on headed notepaper with an impressive crest. With a sinking heart, Greg read on.

 

_ Dear Mr Stamford _

 

_ In respect of your recent application for the position of Dean of Medicine at the University we are delighted to ask you to attend for a series of interviews to confirm your suitability for the post… _

 

Greg crumpled it in his hand.

 

“Sounds to me like they really want you.”

 

Mike didn't say anything.

 

“Mike? What are you going to do?” 

 

Greg’s heart sank. An opportunity like that came only once in a lifetime. Mike couldn't refuse, it would be like him turning down the Commissioner’s job if it were offered to him. 

 

He was going to lose the man he was falling in love with.

 

Mike straightened up, took the letter from Greg’s hands and shredded it.

 

“Why?” asked Greg.

 

“Like I already said, I want to make you happy for the rest of your life. Moving to Newcastle would be a pretty shitty start, don't you think? I'm staying here, Greg. With you. For as long as you want me.”

 

Greg scooped him into his arms and kissed him.

 

“That makes me very happy. I'll spend the rest of time making sure you don't regret it.”

 

“Let's go to bed,” suggested Mike, his eyes hazy with emotion.

 

Greg smiled and pulled Mike towards the stairs on the first steps to their future together.

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seriously loved writing these two. If you'd like to see more Stamstrade, please let me know.


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